


Dulcet

by angelkat



Series: The Wee Compendium of Sweet Ginger [4]
Category: The Adventures of Puss in Boots (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:46:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelkat/pseuds/angelkat
Summary: In which Dulcinea hums.[direct continuation of previous one-shot.]
Relationships: Puss/Dulcinea
Series: The Wee Compendium of Sweet Ginger [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571299
Kudos: 4





	Dulcet

He did not really find his home in San Lorenzo when he first arrived there, to be perfectly honest. Well, yes, Dulcinea was rather welcoming. The children, as well, even though they were too shy to really be comfortable around him long enough for a talk. Save for Toby, that was—the child could be quite a talkative one. The pig was a little…tiring to be with, though, what with his demands to do things that ‘best friends’ do, and Puss could only take too much of piggyback rides before his back broke for good.

And the townspeople…they were wary. _Wary_ was an understatement for Mayor Temeroso, however, but for most of them, well.

They would think he did not see it whenever he walked by and they would flash him a nervous smile before quickening their pace to get back to their home and shut the door, all before he even had the chance to greet them a completely innocent ‘Buenos días.’

Dulcinea told him that it was probably the sword he always wore around his belt, but he found that quite hard to understand—his sword was supposed to be their symbol of _protection_ , not terror. Would they rather have him protect the town unarmed?

Then there was Señora Zapata. The woman was…ah, a very disagreeable angel dropped down by the heavens for probably that very reason, to put it in the kindest way. He tried to gain her favour by being kind to one of her children. Esme, he learned was her name. There was this one time when he was simply helping the girl create her paper boat while telling her of his own adventures across the seven seas. She had gaped at him with such amazement in her eyes as the events of that particular escapade unfurled before her—and in fairness, the maritime tales he had regaled her with _were_ actually true. It was a mission to obtain a treasure map from a savage pirate named Rojo, and even he found himself having a good time simply sitting by the fountain and talking to the girl—even though he had to purposefully omit the violent (though admittedly fun) parts.

Eventually, Puss had finished telling his story at the same time as he finished crafting her paper boat. He then let it float over the rippling waters of the fountain beside them, which Esme delightfully clapped at. He had fully intended to demonstrate to her how to craft a paper plane next, but then Señora Zapata spotted their innocent interactions and pulled Esme by the arm to get her away from him, muttering something about never talking to ‘that filthy criminal thief ever again’.

Really, he could not even offended by those words anymore. After all, he had led the life of a thief once—he had long stopped being a stranger to shifty eyes and doubtful stares. By now, he just felt exasperated. Because if he was going to stay here, this kind of hostility directed towards him should not go on forever.

He revealed his concerns to the town’s barkeeper, Pajuna. That was when he learned of the insight that perhaps, this was just what happened when you isolate a small town from the rest of the big bad world for what may have been millennia. He thought Dulcinea was merely exaggerating when she first told him the tale, but now he knew better. Outsiders literally _were_ out-of-the-world for San Lorenzo. Which was probably why he found a kindred soul in the comradely cow. Pajuna revealed that she was, once upon a time, an outsider as well. But since she had established the Cow and Moone Cantina in San Lorenzo many years ago, the town had quickly grown to trust her as someone who did not mean them any harm.

He then expressed his hope that perhaps the town would grow to see him in that light as well. But then Pajuna shot his hopes down by telling him that it would _probably_ take him time until he was fully liked by everyone in town. He had gasped an offended ‘How dare…!’ before Pajuna cut him off and reminded him of the fact that he _was_ the one who attempted to steal the coin from their Treasure House which destroyed the protection spell that they have been relying on for Felina-knows-how-long, therefore he had no right to think he deserved to be trusted.

Aaaand she had a point, and it effectively shut him up to end that conversation, but come on. It was just a _coin_. At the time, he knew nothing. And besides, what _were_ they going to do with all that treasure? Stealing—or in gentler words, keeping an item without the express permission of its owner—a measly piece of withered bronze should not make him such a despicably vicious and irredeemable criminal.

But here he was. Isolated and a little, well, alone, except for the occasional thief, and the times when Dulcinea would be out of class. He would try to tell himself that it was what he deserved. But he also thought that if this was going to be the home he would protect with his life for the days to come, then both parties should at least _try_ to get along.

Dulcinea saw through his worries, he thought, because she had approached him once about it. And so he spilled his guts. She had merely looked at him with sympathy once he was finished narrating his thoughts, and then she said, taking his paw in both of hers, “When nasty thoughts have filled your head, just hum a happy tune instead.” She had smiled so sweetly it was contagious, he could not have helped that ridiculous smile of disbelief breaking from the surface of his face as well. “The wisdom of the book!”

Her obsession with her silly little book of rhymes, he found, could be quite an amusing thing. It was strange, really. Unique, as well. He had found her fascinating since the very beginning, but now he was thoroughly convinced that she was unlike anyone he had ever met. Truly, who would attempt to comfort someone else by reciting a rhyme from a children’s book? He was honestly convinced that no one in the world would _do_ that. Until he met her.

He found her manner childlike, but at the same time, she had the grace of an adult. A woman. He got to know her better and better each passing day, and slowly, he knew that she was at least trying to make him feel like this was home. He was especially touched by her efforts to bring him an adventure, right in the middle of the town. Something about evil princesses, a castle, and a wicked mage. That incident quickly spiralled into chaos when Artephius accidentally cracked the entrapment gem, releasing that giant slimy monster thing with a fake princess dangling creepily from the stalk that sprouted out its forehead. He chuckled at the thought of Dulcinea scaring that monster away by growling at it and calling it a ‘big bully’.

Now, _that_ was feline.

Eventually, he came to seriously consider her suggestion to turn to music at times when ‘nasty thoughts begin to fill his head.’ The town had a musician—Puss forgot his name—but he could remember him as that plump man with a hat, notable for always bringing a guitar with him wherever he went. He asked him if he had a spare, and the man hesitantly said that he did; he asked if he could borrow it, the man told him it was his to keep. Which was great.

From then on, he played it during the nights when no one can hear.

And Dulcinea was right, he thought. Playing music…it felt like he was closing his eyes to the world and opening them again someplace else where he felt like he _belonged_.

Once upon a time, he had been just a kitten, another child who never knew who his parents were. Perhaps they had died upon his birth, maybe he had been abandoned, or likely, he was unwanted. He had long resigned himself to the fact that perhaps he would never know. But no matter what the reason was, being orphaned was probably the greatest blessing he had ever received. After all, it had given him the rarest opportunity to be the son of a mother he never would have known he needed.

She was the kind of mother that was simply…perfect. The kind that would not scorn him for making a mistake, instead gently reprimanding him for it. The kind who would understand if he got scared of the lightning and thunder, or if he had a terrible nightmare about the monster under his bed. The kind who would shamelessly call him _pequeño_ in public and he could only feel embarrassed yet so purely loved at the same time. The kind of mother who, when he was sick and he would feel isolated by all the other boys at the orphanage because they did not want to catch his cold, would still openly take him into her arms and gently rock him back and forth, singing him the lullaby she sung to him every night as a kitten to guide his way to sleep.

So whenever he strummed the guitar, it made him feel like he was someplace warm. Someplace familiar. Someplace his heart cherished. Someplace home.

Someplace else.

He did not want to have to explain himself why he preferred to stay up in the nights, and if he ever revealed it, Dulcinea, kindness incarnate, would surely suspect that something was wrong. He did not want her to worry for his well-being, so, ultimately, he decided to keep his nightly solo guitar performances a secret.

Until _she_ started humming.

He was a little startled when he first heard her do it. Not that it was…unusual for her to hum, no. In fact, he heard her hum quite often—when she would do the gardening with the children, while she read her book during lunch at the cantina, or during the small spaces of silence whenever they had their usual conversations when she insisted to walk with him during his patrols around the town.

It was just that he had never heard her hum this particular melody before.

He would ask her how she had come to know the song. But he had his own doubts about what song she was humming, exactly. He would try to confirm it by listening intently, but she would only hum that melody for a few seconds before she would pause, and repeat it from the beginning, as if she was not certain how the notes came next.

So he could not exactly be sure what song it was.

And he did not exactly want to start the conversation and confuse her. He did not really feel like explaining himself, in case she had no idea what he was talking about, and besides…

Eventually, she had to give herself away.

She probably thought that she was being sneaky, but she had asked him, so directly, what his favourite song was.

It would have been less obvious if she subtly put the question in proper context, but the thing was, she blurted out the question so _randomly_.

Plus, he himself had come to suspect her sudden sleep diet, how she would spend more time for her siesta and all.

If that did not confirm how she secretly knew of his supposedly-secret, nightly guitar playing, then nothing would.

And suddenly, well…it made _sense_ to him. In the most absurdly literal sort of way. He never felt alone whenever he played his guitar—because there was someone, someone else, letting herself get lost in the music _with_ him, so that they were lost together.

He really did laugh out loud to himself once he realized, he never really was alone, was he?

At least…Dulcinea never let it happen.

And he felt it, he _felt_ her silent presence every single night when he got up from his bed, grabbed his guitar, and went for the rooftops before he sat himself down and began to strum. Dulcinea would never know that he knew she knew, and he was perfectly fine with that—eventually, he had grown to play the guitar _for_ her, because he knew that _she_ was there, listening…which was all that mattered. He was afraid of pushing her away by letting her know, and besides, he was already content with this arrangement. He would play, she would listen. He had long learned that doing something for someone else could create the most wonderful feeling ever, and this…this feeling of companionship was more than he could ever ask for.

Until that night happened.

He played the same song, as usual. He strummed with his eyes closed, as usual. Then suddenly…

He found the world dissolving all around him, and he was a kitten again, sick and isolated by all the other orphan boys so there _she_ was there again, mothering him. His mamá. Warmth enveloped him like a thick and soft quilt, and he could hear the wood crackling by the fireplace. He felt as if his spiking fever could not make him shiver more violently. But then she would pull him closer to her warm bosom, muttering how he would be well soon, and how she would be there for him every step of the way.

She was cradling him in her arms.

And she was _humming_.

He snapped his eyes open, but that was a mistake—because suddenly, he found himself back on top of the rooftop he sat on, a guitar in his arms.

Silence in the wind.

And his fingers, frozen over the strings in mid-strum.

He sat there for a few moments, perfectly still and unmoving, his eyes fixated on the crescent moon even though in truth, he did not really see it.

Because his eyes were already welling with tears.

He knew he missed being sung this lullaby to him. He knew it was childish. But until now…

He never realized how much he had already forgotten how his mamá’s voice sounded like.

* * *

**4  
** _dulcet._

**Author's Note:**

> shameless self-promotion: i wrote about that treasure map adventure, although it was a long time ago. this, if you're curious: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801397
> 
> also yes, idk why i profusely write for such an obscure fandom dedicated to a talking cat for more than three years now either


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